A Dialogue
by Chevesic
Summary: A Leroux AU story wherein Erik holds Christine to her promise of being his 'living bride'.
1. Prologue

**Full Summary: **

"What absolute rot"- that was what Dominic Spence had to say when his friend Phillip Ashe announced his decision to become a psychoanalyst. So, Ashe was understandably intrigued when Spence sent him a letter one day, begging for his professional services. It seems that his friend had stumbled upon a young woman in Calais- mute, frantic and unbelievably desperate to board the ferry to England. Something is terribly _wrong_ with that young woman and Spence wants to know what it is. For Ashe, she is as much an opportunity as she is a professional challenge. However, it soon begins to seem that the horrors of the woman's past are not quite finished with her yet…

**Prologue**

_23__rd__ January 1901. _

_Dear Ashe, _

_I am rather in a beastly hole. I want to talk to you about it. Care to join me for lunch at the – at one 'o' clock today? I'm buying, of course. _

_Your friend,_

_Dominic Spence_.

"I'm not to leave until I get a reply, sir" said the little street urchin of indeterminate age who had delivered the note.

Phillip Ashe grinned. The note was characteristic of Spence: abrupt, demanding, heedless of any inconvenience caused to his fellow-man but generous and disarmingly friendly at the same time. "Hold on a second" said Ashe. Quickly, he wrote:

_Dear Spence,_

_I'll be there._

_Ashe. _

He handed the note (along with a substantial sum) to the little urchin and sent him on his way, confident that the urchin would conceal the fact and receive an equally princely sum from Spence. He was fond of little children, was Ashe. He glanced at his watch. It would be several hours before lunch. Stretching luxuriantly, he regarded his consulting rooms with the satisfaction of the proverbial cat that ate the canary. Not even thirty, he had already amassed a thriving practice in Harley Street. True, he hadn't had a _real_ professional challenge worthy of his education and (he believed) skill. But, the Money was good. Who would have thought that attending the 'nervous complaints' of rich, idle women could be so profitable. Ah, he mustn't be judgmental. God knew they had their reasons for 'developing' these abnormal conditions. 'And,' he thought (with a mental grimace), 'in many cases, these reasons were no less painful than for the poor and the wretched'.

He wondered why Spence wanted to see him. The note managed to sound both serious and flippant at the same time. Ashe wasn't too worried: a real emergency would have seen Spence at his doorstep. Also, Spence was a rather soft-hearted (a trait many did not associate with him, owing to his wooden exterior). Chances were that Spence saying that he was 'in a beastly hole' meant that somebody else was the one in trouble and Spence simply could not let things be. Ashe sighed. Spence might be a damnably good sportsman but he was also an Infernal Nuisance.

Ashe hoped that he could help Spence. Spence was, for all his faults, a rather decent man and they were great pals. Winchester and Cambridge wouldn't have been half so fun if he (Ashe) didn't have Spence for company. Ashe couldn't repress a maniacal grin as he recalled some of the Things they had done – the beaks must have danced all night when they had left!

Abruptly, he stood. It was all very well to attribute his desire to help Spence to their friendship. But, Ashe would be lying to himself if he thought that that was his only motivation. Ruefully, he told himself that the real reason that he was delighted with his friend's request for his help because now was a chance to Prove Himself. He had chanced upon psychology by the purest accident when was studying Medicine. Eventually, as was bound to happen, he came upon the works of that Austrian Doctor- a genius among geniuses, a champion of champions- Dr Sigmund Freud. Even now, Ashe could feel his admiration rise and swell for this Jewish doctor who understood the human psyche as though he had created it himself.

He had been excited about work for the first time in his life. He had eagerly imparted his discovery of psychology to Spence, expecting an equally thrilled response. Here he had miscalculated: he should have realised that Spence was of a coarse-fibered mentality (actually, Spence was really just an individual filled to the brim with solid, unshakeable, British common sense) and did not value ground-breaking, revolutionary paths (really, Spence's imperfect knowledge about psychology had simply led him to believe that it was a form of 'mumbo jumbo'- a view shared by Ashe's acquaintances and a great percentage of the general British population). Spence's response to his decision to pursue his career in psychology was, quite simply to say, 'what absolute rot'. Ashe shuddered, despite the warmth of the room. The dismissal still rankled. But, Ashe reasoned philosophically (and also, quite smugly), Spence had eventually come round (or so it seemed). All should be forgiven if Spence admitted his error. O yes, Ashe was certainly looking forward to lunch.

One 'o' clock saw Ashe at the designated _rendezvous_. He basked in the admiration of passing women while pretending that he didn't notice them. Really, one never _really_ got used to the attentions of pretty women! He was- to be fair to the women- a fine specimen of manhood; tall, dark and _alive_. His name and upbringing may be English but his appearance was unmistakably French. He lost count of the number of times people had mistaken him for a Frenchman, apparently right from the days of his infancy (or so his Mother informs him). He didn't quite realise it but it was his Anglo-French parentage that was partly responsible for his ability to attract and retain patients of a certain class. The aforementioned idle rich were fascinated by his attractive, vibrant looks and simultaneously reassured by his English manners and speech. He would have been ashamed to learn that many women preferred him to his superior colleagues simply because he was attractive.

Spence, as was his customary manner, walked in briskly and nearly upset a steward. Ashe was pleased to note that he didn't look plagued or harassed. He simply looked…a little uncomfortable. They shook hands. "You look fine, man" said Spence, smiling with honest approval. "How have you been, eh?"

"What was it you wanted to speak to me about?" asked Ashe. "What poor creature did you feel the need to save this time?"

"You needn't rot." Spence was uncomfortable again. Ashe was instantly contrite. "You said you were 'in a beastly hole' but you didn't come to see me directly, so, naturally I assumed that it was really someone else who was in trouble…"

The discomfort and annoyance disappeared. Spence smiled and looked sheepish. "I have rather a reputation for adopting strays, haven't I?"

Ashe grinned over his wine glass. "Well, what's the matter?"

Spence inhaled. "Well, it all started in Calais the previous month, just as I was about to board the ferry to England…"


	2. Chapter One: A Professional Challenge

**Chapter I **

**A Professional Challenge**

"Well, it all started in Calais the previous month, just as I was about to board the ferry to England," began Spence, "I was returning from a visit to my Aunt Jane at St Malo. You remember Aunt Jane?"

It seemed that Ashe did. He shuddered at the recollection. Spence grinned. "Then, you'll understand why I was at the port some two hours before I needed to be? It was there that I met Elsie."

"Who's Elsie?"

"That's not her_ real_ name, of course," explained Spence, unhelpfully. "I decided to call her that because, well, she _looked_ like an Elsie, if you get my meaning?"

"No, I do not." This with exasperation.

"What happened was this: I saw a woman arguing with the ticket-man. Actually, it wasn't really an argument. She wasn't making a sound. She was just waving a scrap of paper and gesticulating wildly. The man was purple in the face, trying to explain something to her. It looked like it was going to turn ugly if nobody intervened so…"

"Naturally, you did." The exasperation increased

"No need to take that tone, man," Spence bristled, "I went to see what the matter was. It seemed that this woman- she was rather _young_\- was trying to board a ferry to England."

"Unless she's a runaway child, why shouldn't she come to England, if she wishes?"

"She wasn't that young," Spence assured Ashe, "the problem was that she wasn't showing her passport."

"No passport? How did she expect to leave France, then?"

"I told the ticket-man that I would explain it to her. Relieved, he left us alone. I thought that the problem was that she didn't understand French and was stuck in France after losing her passport or something. But, she showed me that scrap of paper she was waving about. It clearly said that she needed to board a ferry to England in French."

"Perhaps, she had somebody write it down because she didn't understand French and was unable to communicate beyond what was written on the paper" Ashe suggested.

"I thought of that. But, really, the problem was that she was, ah, mute."

"Mute?"

"Yes. I offered to buy her some coffee and asked her to write down what the matter was. I assured her that I would help her in any way that I possibly could. Her eyes filled up with tears so quickly and I thought she might fling herself on my neck, for a second; but she remained in control of herself" He sounded a little regretful at that, but Ashe (with great difficulty) refrained from teasing.

"We borrowed a notebook and several sharp pencils from a nearby cafe, where I bought her some coffee and a strawberry pastry. She told me that, no matter the cost, she needed to leave France _that very day_. She did, indeed, possess a passport but she _dare not_ try and retrieve it. She informed me, regretfully, that she couldn't tell me why. She even refused to tell me her name!"

"Which is why you decided to name her Elsie?"

"What else can a man do? Anyway, she insisted that it was a matter of life-and-death and that she simply had to leave France at the earliest."

"And you believed that?" Exasperation had turned into incredulity.

"She had very little money and absolutely no things, except for what she was wearing."

Ashe could feel a headache come one. This was _exactly_ like the plot for a bad gothic novel, for heaven's sake! Obviously, this was a fanciful girl who had read one too many novels of the said variety. She probably wanted to run away from home because papa said no, she could not marry the head-clerk! And Spence- poor, soft-hearted, pig-head that he was- had swallowed it like tea!

"You think me a fool," said Spence, coldly. Ashe did not deny it. "Don't you realise that this girl's story was believable _precisely because it was so fantastic!" _Begrudgingly, Ashe had to concede this point. "And-" Spence stopped.

"You might as well tell me about it." The psychoanalyst in him caught the pause like lightning.

"You would have believed her too if you had seen her eat."

"Seen her eat?"

"The way she ate- she had good manners and was properly restrained. But you could see that she hadn't seen good food in some time. I believe that, if she had been alone, she would have inhaled the food. She nearly wept when I offered to buy her food. So, well, I ordered her more food after she finished her coffee and pastry. It was really quite _embarrassing_ how grateful she was. She ate as much as man!"

"What did you do, then?" asked Ashe with forced calm, aggressively pinching the bridge of his nose. He might as well hear the whole of this madness!

"I brought her to England," said Spence, shortly. He refused to look at his friend and stared stubbornly at his soup.

"Tell me you haven't been more of an ass than usual!" begged Ashe. "You didn't do anything illegal, did you?"

Spence gave him a wooden look. He opened his mouth to answer but was stopped (with unnecessary rudeness, it seemed to him). "No! Don't tell me! I don't want to know!"

"You'd have done the same if you'd been there" Spence's face and voice was devoid of all expression. Ashe interpreted this- correctly- to mean that Miss Elsie was a lovely young woman. But, his ire left him.

"No, I wouldn't," said he. "I'm not quite the gentleman that you are." He meant it as a compliment. The two men turned red with embarrassment and hurriedly proceeded with the conversation.

"I left her with my sister Elizabeth. I thought it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement, what with Elizabeth in enforced mourning for that scoundrel, her late husband."

Ashe did not comment on this. He tried as much as was humanly possible not to think of Spence's sister, in any capacity. He was especially eager to avoid any interaction or even mention of her since her late husband died and she was, for all intents and purposes, a _free_ woman . Spence, of course, knew nothing of this.

"Elizabeth is rather delighted with her. She is apparently modest,shy and obliging. She and the baby have taken to each other. So, Lizzy, has decided to hire her as a sort of _au pair _and companion rolled into one. For a time, everything was perfect but, then, a strange incident took place…"

"How so?"

"Well, one evening, when Lizzy and Elsie were home alone- the baby was at my parent's home- Lizzy decided to play some music on the new gramophone and-"

"And?"

Spence leaned forward, as though about to impart a secret. "Elsie simply walked to the fire, picked up the poker and dashed it against the gramophone. Then, she neatly set the poker down, sat down on the sofa, arranged her skirts and picked up her embroidery, as though nothing had happened."

Ashe resisted the urge to whistle. His eyes dilated with honest pleasure. Finally, a real professional challenge! He had been waiting for something like this since the commencement of his career. "Go on", said he, adjusting his posture and joining his fingertips together in front of him, elbows on the arms of his chair.

"I can't understand it, Ashe. Lizzy was scared half-witless. She told me of this the next day, when I came to breakfast with her. _And Elsie could not remember it at all. _She began to shake like a leaf when we asked her why she did that. She even went as far as to ask us why we were playing this horrid trick on her! As if we would! When she realised that we were being absolutely serious, she broke down."

Spence shuddered. "Have you seen anyone crying noiselessly, Ashe? It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up"

Ashe could see that it still did. Spence was white as a ghost.

"The good thing about seeing her like that was that it gave me an idea. I took her to a doctor to have her throat examined and you won't believe what he said."

"I can guess," said Ashe, with a sort of gentle superiority, "the doctor gave you to understand that _there was nothing wrong with her at all. _So, she should be able to speak (or, rather, she should be able to make sounds). Yet, you can't shake the feeling that she really_ can't_."

Spence swallowed. "My reason tells me that she's lying to me for some reason. That she's capable of speech and she's refusing to speak just like she refuses to give me her name or tell me why she wanted to leave France like that. But, my instinct tells me that she's truthful. Does that make sense?"

Ashe nodded thoughtfully. "Do you want me to take her on as a client?" he asked.

Spence grinned. "I knew I could rely on you, man"

**Reviews are appreciated. **


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